


there's a rhythm in rush these days

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Manga Spoilers, My First Work in This Fandom, Summer Training Camp, lmao what am i even doing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:09:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kageyama had been used to cold shoulders and disobedient snarls and whispered words of contempt, which is why Hinata’s volatile praise shoots through him like a projectile. He’ll squint, puzzling for a short second, before Sawamura calls for another and Kageyama’s mind settles back into volleyball, volleyball, volleyball. Hinata sits as an unattended kettle on the metaphorical back-burner of Kageyama’s brain, his insistence and fervor preceded by a shrill, keening whistle. </p>
<p>He gets headaches, to say the least.</p>
<p>(<i>in which Kageyama suffers from the symptoms of an Unrealized Crush and no one wants to punch anyone anymore. set during the summer training camp arc.</i>)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. gdi these nerds

Kageyama realizes it’s easy to be angry at Hinata during an independent practice while lifting the sweat-dampened collar of his tee in a vain attempt to cool down. The summer presses heavily at his back, its broiling, humid air like a river’s current from the gym’s open doors. He sucks another breath into his burning lungs and stoops to retrieve a ball.

Outside, the first of the exterior lights flick on. Their broad, yellow beams arc through the wide windows, swathing the wood-board floor in streaks of glossy white. He zeroes in on a neatly placed row of empty water bottles, spins the ball in both hands, and exhales long and low before tossing. It’s obvious from the very second the ball leaves his grasp that the set is too long. Frustration worms its way further into him as the ball bounces across the empty court, each elastic _tap_ a punctuated slap to his ego.

It’s easy to be angry at Hinata because he’s so _fanatic_ it soaks the air around him, excitement thrumming like a well-tuned engine from the inside out. He’s a 162-centimeter well of depthless energy, springs or wings buried in his legs or back. Kageyama has to try hard to keep his attention from the Perfect Decoy, from the wild grin and flushed cheeks and the wide, wide eyes that always find his. When he’s angry, he has to try equally as hard to keep his fists anchored by his sides.

Usually, he fails spectacularly at both.

Kageyama had been used to cold shoulders and disobedient snarls and whispered words of contempt, which is why Hinata’s volatile praise shoots through him like a projectile. He’ll squint, puzzling for a short second, before Sawamura calls for another and Kageyama’s mind settles back into volleyball, volleyball, volleyball. Hinata sits as an unattended kettle on the metaphorical back-burner of Kageyama’s brain, his insistence and fervor preceded by a shrill, keening whistle.

He gets headaches, to say the least.

The next toss is accompanied by the gurgling twist of his empty stomach, but still completes a perfectly unbalanced arc. Success is a welcome change, so Kageyama’s mouth curls into the smallest of smiles despite itself. He jogs to set it up all over again after savoring the sound of falling bottles. His fingers have barely wrapped around the second bottle ( _green label, tall, Sugawara’s name scrawled in the captain’s loose handwriting on its crinkled side_ ) when a voice calls from behind him:

“Oh, that one was nice!”

Kageyama turns around slowly, the way a soon-to-be victim in a horror film might, and finds Hinata standing at the open doors. Even from this distance, Kageyama can see his sharp-toothed grin. He swallows uneasily, still unsure how to act around the other boy. Were they getting along now?

“Thanks,” he says, terse.

“Do it again,” Hinata continues, oblivious to the setter’s disquiet. “I didn’t get to see it.”

Kageyama turns his back, feigning disinterest. His pulse thunders wetly in his ears. “No.”

“Why not?!”

“I’m hungry.” He is, but he mostly just wants to annoy him.

“Kill joy,” Hinata scoffs, striding (in all of his tiny glory) onto the half-court. “How long have you been practicing?” He picks up a volleyball and spins it around an index finger, his face contorting into one of complete concentration.

“Uh-“ Kageyama checks the clock. It’s past eight, no wonder he’s hungry. “Three hours. About.”

Hinata pouts and tosses the ball, which means that his practice time had been shorter. Kageyama knows what’s about to happen before it does, but is still caught off-guard when Hinata leaps and slams the ball into the net. The first-year’s feet hit the court in one-two scuffs, the squeak of his athletic shoes echoing in the gym’s tall rafters.

“It didn’t go over,” he taunts, smirking, ignoring the unavoidable awe that swells within him after seeing the middle blocker’s unbelievable jump. Hinata mutters something bitter and mocking under his breath, and Kageyama recognizes the tone as the infamous Kageyama Impression. He twitches and fantasizes about throwing a ball at the idiot’s head.

_Screw everything else_ , he thinks. _It’s easy to be mad at Hinata because he’s a pain in the ass_.

…

Kageyama and Hinata plunder the kitchen, discovering the day’s leftovers in an industrial-sized refrigerator. They warm their feast in the oven, flinging insults and blame back and forth when the vegetables darken to a burnt crisp. It’s routine enough that the setter is lulled into placidity. The calm is partially because he’s tired after a long practice and partially because he doesn’t feel like punching his friend in the face, anymore. Hinata chatters on and on, short legs swinging from his perch on a metal-top counter. Kageyama leans on the other side of the galley, providing a rebuff or insult or nod when prompted. Outside, summer cicadas fill the air with static.

“—and then I was like, _what_?! And Suga-san was like, _eh_?? And then Tanaka-senpai—“

Kageyama picks at the overcooked contents of his late dinner, turning over a kale leaf with disgust. He tunes Hinata’s noise down and out, letting the sound flow in one ear and out the other.

“You’re not even listening,” he accuses, mouth half-full with half-chewed rice. Kageyama stares in pointed revulsion, typically oblivious to the food he’d dropped on his own clothes. “It was funny. Guess you had to be there.”

“Doesn’t that usually mean it _wasn’t_ funny?” He wanders to the trash bin and scrapes the wasted greens off his plate before placing it anonymously in the deep sink. “Are you finished?”

Hinata startles, looking from his empty bowl to Kageyama’s outstretched arm, ignoring his normal scowl. He hands it over, brushing the cool tips of his fingers against the other’s as he lets go. Kageyama misses the pink that dusts the red-head’s cheeks.

Hinata’s heels glue themselves to the cabinets and his hands curl around the counter’s edge. He’s hanging onto the edge of a breathlessly steep cliff but he kind of wants to fall.

…

“I really, r _eally_ hate losing,” Hinata huffs as they sprint up the hill. He all but bounds up the grassy slope, cutting switchback paths into the summer-dry grass. Kageyama glares jealously; Hinata has the grace of a mountain goat while he, a head taller and a dozen kilos heavier, has to barrel his graceless way to the top.

“Then _don’t drop the ball during a game_ ,” Tsukishima mutters, hauling a panting Yamaguchi over the crest. He fixes his crooked glasses and sneers down at Hinata. “Pathetic.”

“Now, now,” Sugawara butts in from the bottom of the hill, motherly instincts calling. “Everyone knows what went wrong. We’re learning.”

The blond scoffs and hurries off, leaving Yamaguchi behind. He scrambles to catch up, calling a very distressed and unneeded s _orry, Tsukki!_ at his back.

Hinata reaches the top, taking a moment to catch his breath. Kageyama runs past him, guessing he’ll pull alongside soon. When he doesn’t, he turns around. Hinata is still standing at the hill, hands fisted in the material of his shorts. Kageyama rolls his eyes and backtracks.

“Ignore him,” he says, grabbing Hinata’s wrist. His pulse is quick and light against his palm and he doesn’t know what to say, so he falls back to a well-worn route. “Dumbass.”

“It was pretty pathetic,” the red-head starts, morose. It’s the closest Kageyama’s seen him to depressed all week. He cuts him a flat glare and tugs at his arm. “Okay, okay. _Jeez_ , I can run on my own, you know.”

“Can you?” he asks, faking genuine curiosity. His lips twist into an imperious sneer.

“Of course!”

Kageyama loses his grip on Hinata when the shorter boy sprints ahead, shoes flinging dirt as he proves just how easily he bounces back from misery. Kageyama breaks into a run, lengthening his stride so that they’re even.

Summer, he finds, will always be hot sun and sweat on his skin and Hinata, Hinata, Hinata.

…

Kageyama’s cellphone’s soft alarm wakes him at five thirty the next morning. The actual wake-up call isn’t for another half-hour, but he needs the extra practice. Next to him, Hinata, a bundle of blanket and boy, rolls over. At first, he’s afraid that he’s awoken him. Flashes of Hinata’s early-morning enthusiasm streak through Kageyama’s mind, prompting a horrified shudder.

“Morning,” Hinata whispers brightly, his eyes peeping out from the comforter. The room’s too-cool air conditioning raises goose bumps on Kageyama’s exposed skin. Shivering, he braces himself for the storm.

But, instead of the flurry of motion he was expecting, Kageyama is subjected only to an unmoving Hinata. He frowns, confused. “Were you already up?”

“Yep.”

“Since when?”

“Uh, not that long ago.” Kageyama realizes Hinata’s messing with his phone underneath the covers. “Kenma texted me, so…”

His stomach twists uncomfortably. He knows that Hinata and Nekoma’s Kenma were friends and texted often, but the reminder sits like lead in his chest. Kageyama scratches bewilderedly at the sinking feeling of it, wrinkling his shirt horribly in the process.

“Oh. About what?” He tries to sound nonchalant and wonders why when it doesn’t work.

“He’s complaining about Kuroo.” Hinata recedes into his blanket cocoon, the light from his phone catching his eyes and illuminating their orange-brown blend. His hair stands in random spikes around the crown of his head and he’s staring owlishly at the device, ignorant of how absolutely ridiculous he looks. “Here,” Hinata says suddenly, thrusting an arm out of his shelter to shove the phone into Kageyama’s face. Surprised by the light, the still-groggy teen swats at his teammate’s hand until his eyes adjust.

A picture of a stoic Kenma and a smirking Kuroo in grey morning-light fills the screen, their matching red shirts burning spots of color into his corneas. The caption reads: _six a.m. practice_. _Kill me pls_.

“That’s rough,” Kageyama says, uncertain exactly how to react. Despite attending the same training camp, Nekoma felt the need to train earlier than the other teams. Kageyama knows he should be up and moving by now, but he’s comfortable in Hinata’s presence and with his blanket wrapped around his shoulders. The phone buzzes and Hinata snickers into his palm.

“Hey, Kageyama, come here.”

“Why?”

“Just come here.”

Kageyama leans forward, his usual morning grumpiness finally starting to form.

Suddenly, a bright light goes off. Kageyama is blinded by the abrupt flash and screams when it’s over, falling backwards and onto a sleeping Nishinoya. Yamaguchi shares the same fate when one of Hinata’s wind-milling arms smacks his head. A row of sleeping bodies over, Asahi startles into consciousness, his long hair tangled in front of his face. To his complete mortification, he screams, too.

Then the entire team is awake, including a panicked Sugawara and an angry Sawamura. The captain rises from his pallet by the door and stalks, bare feet thudding ominously on the floor, to the two first years. Suga rubs wearily at his eyes and follows him.

“What was that?” Daichi’s crossed arms and smoldering glare ruin his otherwise perfect front of calm. His hair stands comically up at the back of his head where it had been squished against his pillow.

Hinata rolls himself into a sitting position, still covering his face. “I, uh, took a picture and I, um, forgot to turn off the flash?” His voice jumps an octave as his nerves get the best of him.

Kageyama is trapped between his fuming captain and an even angrier libero, whose unfiltered demeanor now communicates certain death for whatever or whoever had startled him out of sleep. He stares resolutely forward, hoping to fly under the radar.

As if sensing this sentiment, Sawamura turns to shift his attention to Kageyama and grumbles something resembling a question. Suga, at his back, hides a tired smile behind his hand.

Hinata speaks up. “I accidentally woke him up, Daichi-san. Sorry. It’s my fault that everyone’s awake.”

Kageyama leans around the third-years’ legs to assess Hinata’s face. He grins back at him. _Was he covering for him?_

Sawamura grumbles a bland _don’t do it again_ and staggers his way back to his mat, but not before hooking a finger in the sleeve of Suga’s shirt. Kageyama decides to take this as a sign and relaxes into his blankets. There’s no way the third-years will allow him to leave, now. To his right, a resilient Hinata taps away at his phone. To his left, Nishinoya turns over and goes quiet, his peace having been restored.

Kageyama’s barely closed his eyes when he’s jolted awake by a shrieking alarm. The room is filled with the boys’ anguished groans and Hinata’s shouted apologies as he’s bombarded with pillows.

…

At breakfast, Hinata attaches the cursed photo to a message for Kenma with _woke everyone up with the flash oops_ as a caption. In the picture, Hinata’s smiling broadly, eyes squeezed closed against the camera’s blinding flash. Kageyama’s obviously alarmed, with one eye severely squinted and the other hilariously wide and terrified. His blanket hangs crookedly off one shoulder and his bed hair is a ruffled mess. In the background, one can barely make out the dark of Tanaka’s shaved head.

A minute later, Hinata startles the team once again when he chokes noisily on his food. They share exasperated glances before returning to their meals, but Kageyama curiously eyes the reddening of Hinata’s ears.

Kenma’s reply is an enigmatic:

_mine is cuter tbh_

_-kuroo_


	2. whoop whoop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> okay kageyama. hey bonfires are cool especially when really stupid trashbabies are involved.

Karasuno finishes a grueling match against Fukurodani later that morning, left breathless with Bokuto’s triumphant hoots echoing in their burning ears. Sugawara gathers the team like wandering sheep and herds them to the sidelines, where Yachi is struggling with an ice chest. Kiyoko moves to help her, but Sawamura turns a wordless command over his shoulder.

 “We’ve got it,” Hinata says, dropping the volleyball he’d been occupying himself with. He trots to her side, followed closely and quietly by Kageyama. The manager lets the chest drop the few inches she’d managed to raise it and smiles gratefully, if a bit ruefully, at him. “Where to?”

“The other gym,” she says, rubbing at the thin-pale of her bicep, and together, Hinata and Kageyama lift the cooler and walk to the doors. The ice inside sloshes down from Kageyama’s side to Hinata’s, their height difference suddenly and effectively illustrated. With the very beginnings of an argument fading as the pair leaves the gym, the rest of the team gathers in a comfortable circle around the bench.

“It’s funny,” Yachi says to Kiyoko, who’s writing neatly in her notebook. “They always use ‘we’ instead of ‘I.’”

She blinks behind her glasses, surprised.  “I didn’t notice until you pointed it out, but they do.”

“A package deal?” Sugawara asks, wiping his grinning face with a towel.

“They’re Karasuno’s wonder-duo!” Nishinoya calls, whipping around instantly, still buzzing with excitement. He bounces a ball between his hands, keen eyes focused as he thinks. “Now that I think about it, it’s more like: Kageyama-and-Shouyo.”

Tanaka laughs from behind a cart of volleyballs. “Instead of what?”

“Kageyama and Shouyou.” Nishinoya leaves gaps between the three words and grimaces when it sounds odd. “See? We always say their names like they’re one word.”

“Whose names?” Hinata and Kageyama ask in tandem, jostling at the doorway for first place. They freeze, elbows jutted painfully into each other’s sides, and trade affronted glares, annoyed by their synced reaction.

“Yours,” Sawamura supplies, straightening from his stretch. “Don’t worry about it.”

He turns to the rest of the team and smiles, forcing an eagerness that falls more than a little flat. “Let’s get this punishment over with!”

The said-duo blinks, confused, but untangle and join the team as they begin their run. Remaining side by side, they resume an earlier argument and start a race with no discernable finish line.

“Kageyama-and-Hinata,” Yamaguchi tests, loud and close enough for Kageyama to hear when he sprints past. “Yeah, it sounds like one word.”

Kageyama bites down on an unwarranted contentment. _Like one word_ , he thinks, mulling it over. _Why does that make me happy?_

…

 

That night, an exhausted, all-team platoon of volleyball players leave the cafeteria in a stumbling, aching horde. Dismissal for a few hours before sleep had come from their equally tired coaches, who now sit in a circle of plastic chairs. Their laughter trails out from the brightly-lit building and into the windy evening, pushing at the students’ backs with satisfied enthusiasm. Lev, still chewing the last of his dinner, is locked in an unsurprisingly one-sided pushing battle with an unremitting Hinata. Kageyama, a step ahead, halfheartedly propels Hinata back into Lev’s dinner-plate hands when he stumbles into his back.

“ _Lev_ ,” Hinata whines, scrabbling desperately. “Just one piece?”

He rips another sloppy bite from his protein bar, raising his arm so that the now-jumping Hinata can’t snatch it from his hands. “No,” he says, the sound of it muffled by chewed food.

“Lev,” Kuroo chastises without turning. His attention remains divided between an indifferent, game-wielding Kenma and Yaku’s rapid conversation, the long slope of his shoulders slumping carelessly. “Don’t talk with your mouth full.”

“Hypocrite,” Kenma murmurs, light-eyes darting from place to place on his phone’s screen. “I’ve seen you do the same a thousand times.” He steps neatly around Kuroo when he freezes, the betrayal striking true. The monotonous soundtrack of the game floats hauntingly on the wind, and the sudden bugle of an unlocked achievement digs acutely into the captain’s chest.

Bokuto, who had been bothering a flat-eyed Akaashi, _oho-hos_ wickedly. Kuroo turns and kicks at Bokuto’s ankles, raising a cloud of dust, which immediately stings Kageyama’s eyes. He blinks rapidly, flinching back from the grit. Hinata, finally giving up on Lev’s food, snickers at his constipated expression. 

“Now that the sun’s going down it feels nice out,” Suga says. “Even a little cool.”

Nishinoya and Tanaka raise their heads from the huddle they had formed, sharing a pair of sharp smiles.

“How about a bonfire?” Nishinoya asks, deceptively low-keyed. Suga cuts a quick glance at him, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. He can almost _feel_ the pain the second-years’ faces suggest. At the back of his mind, visions of billowing, ashy smoke obscure the sky as an imagined school building burns to the ground. Sirens and screams echo as the illusory Tanaka and Nishinoya high-five on a job well done, and dread reaches through unreality to curl cold fingers down Suga’s spine.

He and Asahi make eye contact and simultaneously shake their heads. Suga can see the shine of nervous sweat already on Asahi’s face.

“No,” he says decisively. He and Daichi share a nod, their calm and war-weary expressions expressing deep wisdom. This was an adventure better left unlived.

Unfortunately, the idea has already gained traction in the easily-excited group. Akaashi levels a consoling gaze with Karasuno’s captain and co-captain as the crowd of players murmur excitably, his unspoken empathy hanging depressively in the twilight’s deepening haze.

“I’ll find some wood!” Bokuto yells, his grin practically cracking his face. With that, he breaks from the chattering group, laughing uproariously; he’s the camp’s resident noisemaker, and tonight’s definitely not an exception. The dry snapping of twigs beneath his heavy feet broadcasts his venture into a shaded copse. 

“Shouldn’t we find something to burn it in?” Kuroo asks, straightening from his lazy slouch to scan the back of the gym. His eyes settle instantly on an ancient, rusted barrel and his lips drag up treacherously at their corners. “All right. Who brought marshmallows?”

“Lev, probably.” Kenma’s wandered to a time-worn tree stump, where he taps away at his game. “Check his bag.”

“Hey!”

“Too late,” Kuroo says, saluting a grinning Yamamoto when he darts away to Nekoma’s room.

“Tanaka, Nishinoya.” Daichi’s got two hands twisted in the fabric of their jackets and a terrifyingly empty smile on his face. A shiver shakes the assembled teams synchronously. “If I hear even a single firework, you’re done.”

They nod wildly, his shadow growing and slipping over their heads, looming like the first wave of a tsunami.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto reappears with an armload of thin branches, dozens of leaves stuck in his gelled hair. “Look!”

“Amazing.” Akaashi’s tone and expression remain flat.

“I know, right?” Bokuto remains blissfully oblivious. “Tsukishima, come get some more with me.”

“No, thank you.”  

“Don’t be shy!” Bokuto drops the firewood into Akaashi’s arms, wraps his hand around Tsukishima’s forearm, and drags Karasuno’s uninterested blocker into the trees. In vivid and wholly unnecessary detail, Bokuto recounts his previous venture. He bears the scratched underside of one elbow and elevates the faint red of it to a symbolic status, a token of his time in _the wilderness_. Kuroo trots after them and drapes an arm over Bokuto’s shoulders with his best shit-eating grin. Poking the scratches, he destroys the ego Bokuto had easily built. Tsukishima waits for the end of his abduction with stiff and silent restraint, and Yamaguchi watches with twisting hands, wondering if Tsukishima’s new friends aren’t a little _too_ friendly.

“Bokuto-san’s so cool,” Hinata says, moving to stand at Kageyama’s side.

“You’re a terrible judge of character,” he mutters, eying the spiker’s broad back as he disappears into the night’s gathering shadows. Hinata snorts.

“’s probably why I can be friends with you,” he quips, and sniggers when Kageyama’s nose wrinkles in distaste.

Kageyama stuffs his hands into his    pockets and pretends to be absorbed in the dying grass at his feet. _Friends_ , he thinks, and tries his best to ignore the warmth stirring in his chest. _All right._

…

“I can’t believe the coaches said this was okay,” Tsukishima says suspiciously to a strategically placed Yamaguchi, who shrugs noncommittally before being jostled by Bokuto. The low buzz of his music drifts from the headphones around his neck and Kageyama tries to think of a time he’s actually seen him with the speakers over his ears. He comes up with nothing.

“You’re so boring,” Hinata says. “This is fun!”

 _Fun_ , Kageyama thinks irritably. _Yeah, right._

In lieu of the chairs they couldn’t find, the high school students had dragged a small, dilapidated, and probably lethal set of bleachers from the school’s storage shed. They sit crammed shoulder-to-shoulder on the creaking mess, passing bags of chips back and forth down the benches. Kageyama had been pushed to the very edge of his row, where he sits with Hinata uncomfortably close. Hinata’s shoulder digs into his side and their thighs press together, the heat of Hinata’s skin seeping through Kageyama’s sweatpants. He leans away only to be pursued by Hinata as he laughs over Bokuto and Kuroo’s running commentary.

Kageyama’s so out of his comfort zone, he’s started to think of throwing himself into the blazing barrel. _It’s probably cooler_ , he thinks, tugging at the collar of his shirt.

“You know what I’ve always wanted to do?” Bokuto asks suddenly, swinging around to face the tiered boys behind him. “A fire dance!”

A very weary “Oh, god, _no_ ,” rises from the crowd. The voice’s identity is lost to the cicadas and snapping flames, but Kageyama thinks it’s both Akaashi and Sugawara. He sees his captain pat the strung-out setter’s back with outright sympathy.

Beside him, Hinata’s spine straightens from its hunched curl and his chin tilts up. Kageyama can _see_ the stars in his eyes.

Before he can process the situation, Hinata’s jumped from his side and into the fray of Bokuto’s impromptu frenzy. Tanaka, braying, joins the circle and rips the shirt from his body, swinging it above his head. Suga shouts at him, because _that’s flammable, you idiot_ , while Daichi confiscates the small roll of firecrackers Nishinoya had pulled from his pocket.

The light from the fire is staggered with undulating shadows as the simplest of the congregation swing themselves around in a wide, uneven orbit. Kageyama, Yamaguchi, and Tsukishima watch with varying levels of both confusion and revulsion.

“Tsukishima!” Bokuto’s finally realized that his favorite first-year has yet to join his dance. He pulls away from the circle, out of breath, and points a steady finger directly into the bleachers.

“No, thank you,” Tsukishima says, even quicker than earlier that evening.

This time, Tsukishima’s saved by Hinata, who’s bumped by a Fukurodani second-year, tiny stature unseen in the dark. Hinata is bowled over and onto the chortling Bokuto, who catches him reflexively.

“Oho, Hinata, you’re so light!” With his hands curled under Hinata’s arms, Bokuto lifts him from the ground. “Hey, Kuroo, catch!”

It takes Kageyama a second to process that _Hinata’s being tossed_ , but when it finally clicks, he can’t suppress the laughter that bursts from him. Hinata flails frantically as he flies through the air and into Kuroo’s waiting grip.

Recognizing a good time to run, Kageyama slides from his seat and starts toward the school building, hoping for a quick break.

“Yo, Karasuno baldy!” Kuroo tightens his grip on the struggling Hinata. Tanaka straightens from the doubled-over position he’d laughed himself into and wipes the tears from his eyes. “Your turn!”

Hinata screeches as Kuroo throws him, and this time Kageyama’s definitely able to hear the desperation in his voice. Suga hurries from his seat and hurries toward Tanaka, hands outstretched in a placating manner. Tanaka recognizes his game and whips to face Kageyama, who’d almost made it out of the fire’s dim glow. 

“Kageyama!” Tanaka throws Hinata, but not with enough strength to bridge the three meters distancing them. Kageyama jumps instinctively forward to catch Hinata, his breath leaving his lungs in a strangled _whoosh_ when Hinata thumps hard against his chest. He manages to keep himself upright, but ends up with his arms wrapped around Hinata, their noses a scant distance apart.

Kageyama blinks for a long second, his brain short circuited with the weight of Hinata in his hold. Hinata’s hair is mussed and damp with sweat; strands of it fall low over his forehead and curl delicately at the ends. Kageyama feels his breath against his neck. It makes him shiver, and his fingers tighten reflexively in Hinata’s shirt. This close, in the flickering orange of the firelight, Hinata’s widened eyes gleam a tawny gold. His head lolls forward and down of its own will, a magnetic, heavy pull pressing in the space between his eyes and brain.

 _Oh_ , he thinks, stunned, and drops Hinata.

“What the hell?!” Hinata fumes, rubbing the back of his head. In the darkness, the splotchy red of Hinata’s cheeks go unnoticed by an inert Kageyama, whose skin buzzes , like there’s carbonation fizzing from his pores.

 _Oh_ , he thinks, staring as Suga heaves Hinata up from the ground and dusts his back, asking anxiously if he’s okay. Hinata nods quickly and politely, grumbling an agitated string of words and slanting a glare at Kageyama. As he meets his eyes, Kageyama’s thoughts loop as a comprehending:

 _Oh_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha.......  
> [strawberrysonatina](http://archiveofourown.org/users/strawberrysonatina/pseuds/strawberrysonatina) did me an awesome favor and beta read this chapter! wow amazing. she's reached near saint level in my mind, tbh.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Stay Alive](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bvjNyJ8TBNk) by Jose Gonzalez. A++ musician.
> 
>  
> 
> Haikyuu!! has ruined me I am but a shell of the person I once was  
> I'm actually trashed like, every thought is about volleynerds and I s2g I get emotional over these dumb boys.
> 
>  
> 
> so the doc this is from has about 4k~ words total, but only this much was edited. It'll be a summer camp fic!!  
> Thanks for reading! concrit is always appreciated <3
> 
> (I'm in a constant state of editing, so there may be minor changes every time you view it)


End file.
